An' so the devil can't refuse

To try de w'isky blanc,
An' say, "I'm tryin' many drink,
An' dis is de fines' I don't t'ink,
De firs, ba tonder! mak' me wink—
Hooraw, poor Canadaw!"

"Merci non, non-I tak' no more," De devil say at las',

"For tam is up wit' you, Louis, So come along, ma frien', wit' me, So many star I'm sure I see,

De storm she mus' be pas'."

"No hurry-wait a minute, please," Say Louis Desjardins,

"We'll have a smoke before we're t'roo, 'T will never hurt mese'f or you

To try a pipe, or mebbe two,
Of tabac Canayen.'*

"Wan pipe is all I want for me—

We'll finish our smoke downstair, De devil say, an' it was enough, For w'en he tak de very firse puff He holler out, "Maudit! w'at stuff! Fresh air fresh air!! fresh air!!!"

An' oh! he was never sick before

Till he smoke tabac Bruneau

Can't walk or fly, but he want fresh air
So Louis put heem on rockin' chair
An' t'row heem off on de road out dere-

An' tole heem go below.

An' he shut de door an' fill de place
Wit' tabac Canayen,

An' never come out, an' dat's a fac❜-
But smoke away till hees face is black-
So dat's w'y de devil don't come back
For Louis Desjardins.

An' dere he's yet, an' dere he'll stay-
So weech of de two'll win

Can't say for dat-it's kin' of a doubt,
For Louis, de pipe never leave hees mout',
An' night or day can't ketch heem out,
An' devil's too scare' go in.

-William Henry Drummond

THE HOST OF THE AIR

*

O'Driscoll drove with a song

The wild duck and the drake,

From the tall and the tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.

And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night tide,

And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.

* From Poems, by William Butler Yeats. Used by special permission

of The Macmillan Company, publishers.

.

He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,

And never was piping so sad,

And never was piping so gay.

And he saw young men and young girls

Who danced on a level place

And Bridget his bride among them,
With a sad and a gay face.

The dancers crowded about him
And many a sweet thing said,

And a young man brought him red wine
And a young girl white bread.

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve
Away from the merry bands,
To old men playing at cards

With a twinkling of ancient hands.

The bread and the wine had a doom,
For these were the host of the air;
He sat and played in a dream
Of her long dim hair.

He played with the merry old men
And thought not of evil chance,
Until one bore Bridget his bride
Away from the merry dance.

He bore her away in his arms,
The handsomest young man there,
And his neck and his breast and his arms

Were drowned in her long dim hair.

O'Driscoll scattered the cards

And out of his dream awoke:

Old men and young men and young girls
Were gone like a drifting smoke;

He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;

For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,

* From Poems, by William Butler Yeats. Used by special permission of The Macmillan Company, publishers.

And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance.

And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,

With "Here is the fiddler of Dooney!"

And dance like a wave of the sea.

-William B. Yeats

THE FAUN SEES SNOW FOR THE

Zeus,

FIRST TIME

Brazen-thunder-hurler,

Cloud-whirler, son-of-Kronos,

Send vengeance on these Oreads
Who strew

White frozen flecks of mist and cloud
Over the brown trees and the tufted grass

Of the meadows, where the stream

Runs black through shining banks
Of bluish white.

Zeus,

Are the halls of heaven broken up
That you flake down upon me
Feather-strips of marble?

Dis and Styx!

When I stamp my hoof

The frozen-cloud-specks jam into the cleft

So that I reel upon two slippery points.